Fel's test
by Metheus
Summary: A young troll faces tests on the way to becoming a headhunter. Should add that this is based on the pen and paper game. With thanks to ‘Vigoreyes,' with a promise that I will move the story along in the next chapter
1. Chapter 1

The night air in the jungle was heavy with mist and unusually quiet

The night air on the island was heavy with mist and unusually quiet. Except for the occasional cry of a distant monkey and the constant drone of the insects, very little was moving. Among the minority was a jungle troll chewing bone as he sat on a small platform some thirty feet up a very stout tree. The troll had made the platform almost three weeks ago and it had served as his home since.

The troll's name was Fel, and he was undergoing a rite of passage to become a headhunter. Zul'Var, the witch doctor who was administering the rite, had given him and three other whelps in the village a task. They were to travel to the Echo islands, survive for at least a week, and return with meat for the village to eat. This meant wild boar. The young trolls were each left on a shore, one per island, with just the clothes on their back and a signal gourd. When they completed their task, they were to light a fire and pour the contents of the gourd into it. A boat would then bring them back to the mainland.

Survival had not been too difficult. Fel had been trained from an early age how to identify and follow tracks, how to stay out of sight, and how to manufacture tools from the local area. He was a troll after all. Finding food was also relatively simple if you knew where to look and weren't too picky as to what filled your gut. Again, troll.

Even the fact that he was on one of the Echo Isles wasn't as daunting as one might expect, though Fel never rested easy. The rogue witchdoctor Zalazane had been slain. His shrunken head was dangling on a spear at the door of Vol'Jin's hut where all were invited to show their contempt for it. His being dead was considered a fact by the entire tribe, but it was about the only thing accepted as such. Everyone who knew anything about how Zalazane was brought down swore with absolute conviction that he or she was the one who did it. To listen to their stories one would think that Zalazane was killed on a daily basis; and it would serve the vile geezer right.

All that remained of Zalazane's blight on this particular island was a spirit wall on the north end. Fel had noticed it early on in his exploration of the island. The "wall" consisted of little more than a haphazard line about 40' long of spears and sapling branches held together by colored twine. Dangling from the twine was an assortment of shrunken heads, skulls, gourds, and nasty looking fetishes. The thing was made to stymie troop movements or hedge out animals. While a child could probably knock the wall over, the sheer intensity of bad juju packed into it would keep all but the most stalwart berserker from coming within a spears throw distance of it; and if that berserker were foolish enough to knock the fence down, the juju he released would hit him with a curse that would make the rest of his meager lifespan miserable. The spirit wall was nothing to be toyed with, but as long as Fel did nothing stupid, like toy with it, the thing shouldn't do more than give him a few rough dreams.

No, what had caused the young troll many sleepless nights had been 'Devil Pig'. The moment he hit the shores of 'his' island, he read the ground to see what he would be dealing with. It didn't take him long to find evidence of what he expected: muskrats, snakes, monkeys. He also found tracks of dire rats. 'Dire' meaning that they were much larger than normal rats and had a mean streak to match. This gave him some pause as he took a moment to find a makeshift club, but did not surprise him. Dire rats were not unheard of and could be dealt with. He would simply have to sleep light and design a plan to protect his meat when he finally caught it.

Then he saw the tracks of the 'meat.' These too were 'dire.' Great spirits, how did a pig that big get around on the island?! The front hooves were at least two troll lengths away from the back hooves and sunk a good inch in the firm earth where he found them. This swine was Huge! Hells, the head alone would feed the village for a day or two. There were no smaller boar tracks in the area, a boar that size didn't leave much room for competition on the island, so this was what Fel had to kill for his task. He didn't think the witch doctor realized what he had put Fel into, but that didn't help matters. He wasn't about to go slinking back and asking for an easier task.

It took a few moments before the reality of what he was facing really sunk in. Wild boars were a challenge enough. They were sharp-eared, had a good sense of smell, and they did not go quietly. It wasn't unheard of for an impaled boar to charge right up the spear and tear the innards out of the hunter at the other end. Many hunters avoided this by attaching a crossbar to their spear to block the boar, but even then the killing was a tough act. This beast was on a whole 'nother level; a simple bar wouldn't stop it and Fel doubted a single prod would do it. He took a third look at the tracks and decided to build his platform several times higher than normal on the strongest tree he could find… and arrange a couple of "escape vines" to be within reach of the platform.

Over the next week he had carefully studied his prey. He tracked 'Devil Pig' (as he had finally decided to call it) to find out its habits: where it slept, where it ate, where it drank, what food it seemed to prefer. During this time he took great care to avoid it. He would break off the tracking if he even heard it in the distance. It would no doubt see signs that he was in the area, but there was nothing he could do about that. He simply wanted to encounter it on his terms.

This had not always been possible, and on two occasions he had been treed by the beast. The first time it had surprised him, charging out of the bush some twenty feet away from him. Abject terror and troll acrobatics had been barely enough to get him up a nearby tree without being gored or maimed. He had screamed like a stripling for at least five minutes while the beast reared up to try and knock him out of the branches, and did not get out of the tree for at least an hour after it had given up on him and left. The second time he had been a little more cautious, and recognized the snort of the swine from the copse of trees ahead on the trail. He had reached a tall tree readily, but had to jump like a panicked squirrel to another tree's branches when the boar had knocked his impromptu refuge over. These experiences gave him far worse nightmares than Zalazane's fence ever did.

Once he thought he understood the beast, he worked over scenarios as to how he would kill it. Simply charging it with a spear was suicide of the unforgivable sort. A deep pit might work, especially with spikes, but he wasn't sure he could did a pit deep enough to guarantee that the devil pig wouldn't get out. The weight of the pig suggested that maybe a quicksand style trap would be effective; but again, if it got out he was cooked, and if he did manage to kill it there was no way he would be able to haul it out of the quicksand himself. What good was the meat if he couldn't get it to the shore?

There were a variety of traps that might work on lesser swine, but not on Devil Pig. Fel began to envision all sorts of farfetched traps that might do the trick. The one that made him smile had involved suspending two heavy logs with spears on either side of one of Devil Pig's paths. As Devil pig crossed the line, the logs would be released and would swing in like pendulums, cracking into either side of the porker and driving the spears deep into his side; hopefully breaking many ribs in the process. Unfortunately, while vines were plentiful on the island, Fel didn't think there were vines large enough to hold the logs. And besides, Fel was one of the lean, mean trolls. While he was tough and could take a hit or two, he wasn't as strong as his companions. Even Palla, the only female of the youth testing on the islands, was able to hold her own with him in contests of strength. While she was something of an oddity for the fact she was testing to become a headhunter, the fact that she had beaten him as often he had beaten her illustrated why he wasn't going to be hefting logs around to make traps.

In the end, he had settled on what he referred to as the "Pitcher plant trap," named for the plant that had served as the inspiration for the idea. About 15 yards away from one of Devil pig's paths, Fel was going to convert a copse of trees into a trap to hold the swine. Two trees would serve as the "entrance." "Spears" of sharpened saplings would be tied to the trees so as to be aimed towards the interior of the trap. Two trees about eight feet behind the first pair would serve as the sides of the trap. As with the entrance trees, sharpened stakes would line trunks of these two trees. Two last trees six to eight feet further on would serve as the foundation for the back of the trap. Again, the trees would be lined with spears and stakes facing toward the entrance of the trap. The spears of the trees would be supplemented by similar spears driven directly into the ground or tied to the lower brush.

While entering the trap, the pig would be traveling in the same direction as the spears that lined the "gate." Those spears would flex harmlessly to the side as he pushed through them. Upon passing the "gates," however, he would be met with a wall of spears, some of them quite thick and sturdy, all pressing in on him, which would discourage his progress. The side trees and their assorted stakes, by Fel's judgment, would prevent the pig from swerving or turning around, while the spears of the entrance, which gave the beast no resistance before, would now be digging into his flanks if he tried backing up. The beast would no doubt thrash about, but in doing so would do considerable damage to himself, and Fel hoped that during that time he would have an opportunity to get a well placed thrust or two at its heart.

For the next two weeks, Fel had been hard at work. Early on he fashioned two axes of flaked stone. During the day he gathered as many staves and as much vine as he could find. At night he would do a crude job of sharpening the staves with an axe and fire-harden them. The next day he would tie them to his trees with the vine before going out to find more materials for the next day. As the work progressed he would check the strength of earlier work. About a week into his preparation he modified his plan, tying saplings between the main trees to refine the walls of the trap and lining them with short stakes. On these crossbeams he rested stout trunks, about a hand width in diameter, aimed toward the interior of the trap. He had hoped to sharpen them, but soon realized that this was not practical. He could make reasonably sharp stakes out of the saplings using a combination of axe and fire, but the size of the trunk prevented him from using fire, and the axe just didn't cut it. He wound up splitting the ends of the trunks by using the fire-hardened stakes as wedges, then jamming another stake in the end to serve as a spear point, and binding it on as best he could.

All during this time he was scheming what he would do if he actually survived the planned encounter. It was one thing to kill the beast, but the goal was to bring the food home to the village. As he saw it, there were two main issues he needed to plan for: the size of Devil pig and the dire rats.

Assuming he successfully killed it, he was going to have to get it to the shore to be picked up by the villagers. The pig was obviously too big for him to toss it over his shoulder and carry down to the shore. He was going to have to dismember it. And given the fact that he probably reached its shoulders when standing, and he was doing the cutting with a rough hewn hand axe, this was going to be messy indeed. Once reduced to several manageable sizes, he could follow one of the trails Devil Pig had beaten into the island to the shore nearest the mainland. Some of the stouter spears he had constructed could be lashed together to form a crude travois, which would allow him to drag the pig along the path in several trips, but that was still a lot of dragging.

This wouldn't be a major problem if it weren't for the dire rats. They had ignored him thus far because he was not worth the effort to try and get him. More to the point, he didn't have anything they wanted. That would change if he killed Devil pig. Once the boar died, they would come to scavenge. He –might- be able to hold them off for a while, but if he was dragging a portion of the meat off to the beach, he wouldn't be able to defend the rest. And this is what he stewed on as he sucked the marrow out of the small bone.

The next morning he decided the pitcher plant box was ready. By now he had put two weeks of solid work into it and was reasonably pleased with the work. Spikes and spears of every size and shape lined the walls of the enclosure. To increase the likelihood that the boar would actually go into the trap, as opposed to running around the side, Fel lashed a couple of his stouter, three inch diameter poles against the entrance tree to form a funnel of sorts. The inward facing spears at the entrance were flexible enough to give when Fel applied his full strength to them, but would dig into Devil pig's hide if he tried to retreat. "Devil pig push in, but he don't pull out," grinned Fel in what were the first words he had spoken in three weeks. Now all that remained was to get devil pig to "push in," and Fel had a pretty clear idea how to make that happen.

He was going to goad the boar into chasing him into the trap. In this case, the pig's size worked for Fel. He had been able to leave plenty of troll size gaps near the ground of the trap without compromising the ability of the trap to hold the boar. He goes in, the boar goes in, he slips out, and the boar is stuck… and stuck, and stuck, and stuck. Getting the pig to chase him was probably the only aspect of the plan that Fel was confident about.

He draped the trap with brush that he gathered around the area to reduce the likelihood that the construction would spook the pig. It seemed unlikely to him; the pig walked by on a number of occasions and didn't show much in the way of curiosity. It was big and mean, so it had no real need to be cunning. Besides, he doubted it had ever had a reason to be afraid of anything. Still, it made Fel feel better to conceal it, and the boar didn't appear to be in the area, so he had little else to do. "Besides," he thought when he was halfway through, "if the boar doesn't see the spikes, he might not slow down when he charges in."

Fel then built a small, slow burning fire to about ten feet away from the trap. When he finished this last task, he sat down at the entrance to his pitcher plant, placed his two axes in front of him and, for the first time in three weeks and two days, did no work. He sat. He listened. About two hours into his vigil he started picking at his right inner toe. The day passed without a sign of Devil pig.

The second day passed much as the first. Fel kept himself occupied by fine tuning the trap; tightening up a spear on the back right tree, adding more vine to one of the poles connecting an "entry" tree with one of the side trees. He'd made two spears with chipped rock heads earlier in the week. That afternoon he worked on making a third.

By the third day of he began to worry. What happened if Devil pig didn't show up? He'd be the laughing stock of the tribe! No doubt the other trolls had finished this leg of their testing two weeks ago, and had moved on to the next test. He figured the size of Devil pig justified the extra time and effort he put in, but it all meant nothing if it didn't get the pig. That night was filled with a different sort of nightmare than he'd had previously.

The fourth day found Fel in a surly, defiant mood. The sky was overcast when he awoke, and an hour into his vigil, it had started to rain; a quiet sort of constant rain. After making sure his fire was sheltered from the rain, Fel sat on the ground and stewed.

Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed a small frog climbing up on one of the entrance tree spears. It wasn't one of the poisonous varieties, so in a smooth, fast motion he plucked the frog off the trunk and popped it into his mouth. "Trap finally got some meat, at least" he muttered. "Crunchy frog."

A branch snapped as he swallowed the morsel. To his right he saw Devil pig lumber along the trail. Grabbing his axes, he leapt to a low crouch. Devil pig kept on moving. He reached the portion of the path closest to the trap, about fifteen yards from where Fel now stood, and kept walking. Fel was certain the swine had seen him. Devil pig just couldn't be bothered to chase him right now. Fel stood up straight in disbelief. After the past three days, being dismissed was too much for the young troll. "You Fetid pile of ham hocks! Who the hell do you think you are?! Tell you who -I- think you are! YOU… ARE… BREAKFAST!" And with that he hurled one of his axes at the pig.

The axe struck the boar on its shoulder and bounced off. The boar turned around casually, almost as if to make it clear to Fel just how impotent his attack really was. The second axe caught him just above the eye. The pig took a moment to register the pain of the second axe, the sight of half-naked troll whelp shouting obscenities at it, and connect the two. Then he charged full fury.

Fel had gone so far into his cursing that it took him a moment to realize that he should be running. As fast as the boar had shifted from contemptuous indifference to blood lusting hatred, Fel now shifted from indignant anger to abject terror. He obviously hadn't forgotten how to scream. He scrambled through the entrance of the trap and dove for the gap between the spears as the devil burst through the entryway spears. He heard the pig bellow in pain as it the spears on the inside of the trap tore into its thick hide. The trees shook as he raced around to the side, grabbing two of the sharp stone head spears on the way. As he raised his spear to strike he heard branches snapping under the roar of the devil.

He struck as hard as he could. It was like pushing a staff into a bucket of sand. The spear went into the beast, but only a bit. Fel had struck its shoulder. The thrashing of the beast tore the first spear out of his hands. Blood, leaves, and splinters were flying everywhere as he grabbed for the second spear and drove it home. This one struck true, slipping between the ribs and penetrating deep. Devil pig's squeals of fury took on a gurgling quality.

If it would give glory to Fel or the pig, I would describe the details of the boar's last moments. It would not, so I will not. Devil Pig died, and knowing particulars would tell you no more about the beast. Describing Fel's reaction to this death will, however, tell you more about the troll, so I will describe enough of that to enlighten you.

Once he saw that the pig was indeed going to die, and was in no condition to do him damage, the troll spoke to the pig. "Big, bad, Devil pig," he sneered, "Thought you were king of the island. Well you were wrong! I beat you! Look at me! I… beat… you!" He gloated as he gazed into the boar's eyes. "I have killed you and I will take you back to the village where my friends and family will feast on you!"

Fel savored the boar's death, taking in every detail I've omitted as the boar died. He questioned the boar, taunted it, and took every opportunity to express his dominance. And when Devil pig was finally dead, he raised his spear and roared to the morning sky.

Once his shout was over, Fel looked around to see if anything had noticed and, seeing that nothing was reacting yet, hurried to carry out his plans. He had finally reasoned that the Zul'Var had said he was to return to the village with meat, but said nothing about who carried the meat. Fel had been taken to the island on a canoe manned by two tribesmen. It stood to reason that two would come back for him, and they would probably be happy to share the load, or at least keep the rats away.

Fel stoked his fire briefly, grabbed some smaller burning wood and a spear, and ran to the beach. The rain had continued to fall, but he had stashed some dry kindling under a crude lean-to he had built for just this purpose. He crammed the burning stakes into the pile and quickly produced a steady fire. As soon as this was accomplished he undid the stopper of his gourd and poured most of the powder it contained into the flames. The fire hissed as the flames turned purple. The smoke rising from the fire, far more than a fire that size should generate, glowed a sickly green.

Fel debated staying with the fire to make sure it didn't go out, but quickly decided that he had more important work to do. The tribesmen would probably not mind carrying some of the load, but they would also probably want nothing to do with preparing the beast for transport. Figuring he had an hour or two before they noticed the signal and came over on the boat, he jammed his spear in the ground pointing toward the trail he had used to reach the beach. He hung the gourd on the spear and ran back to the trap.

When he returned, Fel found that the first of the dire rats had begun to arrive and was beginning to sniff around the edge of the trap. Cursing loudly, he grabbed a branch off the ground and hurled it at the beast. The impromptu weapons struck the rat on its hindquarters; and while not enough to kill the rodent, or even cripple him, it was enough to make him move back for a moment.

Fel ran to the trap and grabbed one of the "spears" that Devil Pig had broken off. It wasn't enough to get the rat to keep its distance, it had to be driven away or, better, killed. He charged the rat, stabbing viciously with his spike. The rat dodged to his left and planted its incisors into his shin. Screaming, Fel yanked back his leg. The rat also hopped back and started circling the young troll. Fel stabbed again, and again the rat dodged, but as it closed in for a second nip Fel leapt into the air, avoiding the counterattack. He came down hard, stomping on the rat with all of his might. Stunned, the rat was an easy target for the spear.

Fel impaled the rat and planted the butt of the spear prominently in front of the trap, thinking it might make the other rats think twice about approaching the feast. He then grabbed his axe, and one of his spears, and began the process of cutting up the boar.

His first task was to remove the viscera. He took some care and was able to clear it out without contaminating the rest of the carcass. He tossed these scraps out in front of the speared rat. If they weren't too greedy, the rats of the island would be welcome to finish that portion off; and if it distracted them for a bit, that was fine with him.

He then began to take the limbs off the beast. For this he used his axe, and while it was crude, it did the trick. His goal was not to properly prepare the meat for storage, but to get it ready for transportation; to break it down into pieces small enough to be carried on a pole by two men.

He had just finished binding a hind leg to one of the larger 'spears' from the trap when he heard some skittering. Looking around he saw six to seven dire rats in the area around him. Two of them were grabbing the entrails in their teeth and backing away. The remaining rats were slowly circling the pig. "Greedy little vermin," he muttered, "This is mine. I slew the Devil! What are you next to that?" He leapt atop the carcass of the boar and, while holding out his axe and spear, cried out to the rats "Come and die, ya skeevy rodents!" The rats, apparently unimpressed, attacked.

The first rat charged from the rear. Fel was expecting this. He spun around and hurled his stone axe, catching the rat squarely in the head. He immediately sidestepped, dodging a second rat, but was bit in the calf by the third. Screaming, he took the spear he had been holding in his left hand, grabbed it with both hands, and impaled the rat.

A fourth rat charged and bit into his thigh, knocking him off the carcass to the ground below. The troll's instincts and years of training kicked in and he rolled as he hit the ground. The fourth rat, still attached to his thigh was not so lucky, and was knocked senseless by the impact of the fall. Fel had lost hold of his spear when he fell, so he desperately resorted to the only weapons he had, and bit the throat of the stunned rat.

As he tore into the throat, he felt searing pain in his left shoulder as another rat, possibly the second rat that had missed earlier, leapt on his back and dug in. He screamed, and vainly tried to reach behind him to grab the rodent. He managed to grab the head of the rat, and was trying to claw its eyes out, when the rodent was suddenly ripped from his hand and off his back.

Fel spun around to see a troll headhunter spearing the rat against a tree. He saw a second hunter killing another rat in the distance. Fel stood up, resting his weight on his undamaged leg and keeping his balance by holding the side of the boar. He stifled the trembling caused by his wounds and blood loss. Looking over the boar, he saw that two other trolls had killed the rats leaving with the viscera.

"Hoya, Fel!" said the nearest headhunter. Fel recognized him as Conn. "Zul'Var told us you would need some extra help getting your meal home, but ouff!" Conn let out a laugh, "leave it to you to land the king of the boars, only to get taken out by gnats." Fel flushed, "I did… took…" Words failed him, again. He burned with shame.

Conn pulled the rat off his spear and turned to Fel. "Easy, Fel. Was a joke. These vermin are no small thing when they outnumber you," he took a brief look around, "six or seven to one. And you killed this!" Conn slapped the side of the boar. "By the Loa, Fel! When Zul'Var told me to bring five others along with me I thought he'd been in his gourds again! But man, are we going to feast tonight!"

Fel forced a grin and took a step toward Conn. His right leg, riddled with three rat bites, gave way. Conn leapt forward and caught Fel by his arm. "First, though, we're going to have to patch you up." Fel gritted his teeth. Grabbing Conn's wrist, he forced himself to stand on the bad leg and pulled away from Conn's hold. "This is my trial. I will finish it. I will accept help as the trial allows, but I will not become a burden."

The words came out as inept as they always had. "I will not become a burden" sounded too formal. He had meant to say that he wanted to play an active role in finishing his trial, as opposed to simply letting the other trolls finish it for him, but somehow the way he said it seemed wrong, and ungrateful. Conn seemed not to notice and shrugged, "suit yourself, Fel, but there's no way you're gonna be trotting the meat down to the boats with that leg of yours. Pol! Ven! You two move the meat that's on them poles down to the boats. Roj, Mag, you follow them and guard the boats from other scavengers. Doj and I will guard the site here. Fel, you climb onto your kill and continue carving it up."

The work proceeded smoothly, if laboriously, after that. Fel worked with his tools to finish taking the boar apart. By the end he was covered in blood and guts. His own wounds had stopped bleeding, but seemed more painful than when they were inflicted. His trembling had progressed to the point where he could no longer hide it. Despite this, he forced himself to walk behind the last load of the boar, clutching one of his homemade spears to support his wounded leg. It wasn't until he got to the boats, three of them, that he allowed himself to collapse onto the sand. Doj helped him into the boat that carried the boar's head and bandaged his wounds.

The trip back to the mainland took about an hour. The boats arrived midway through the afternoon and were greeted by a throng of about forty trolls; men and women, adults and children. All were shouting and cheering. Several men ran into the water to help with the boats, some of them slapping the face of the boar in appreciation. When the boats were pulled onto the sand, Fel forced himself to stand up and step out of the boat. The joy of the crowd somewhat abated as they noticed his shaking stance. Trying his best to project a strong, steady voice, Fel shouted out over the waves, "I hope my offering was worth the wait!"

The crowd cheered. It felt good. Fel had spent the trip back thinking of how he would address the tribe. He kept it short and simple to avoid mistakes, and it seemed to please the crowd. His saw his mother and father standing to the side. His father showed obvious pride at the size of the boar, elbowing his neighbors and pointing at the huge head of the pig. His mother was somewhat more subdued, looking with some concern at the way her son supported himself on the bow of the boat.

A stentorian rattling drew the attention all on the shore. A grizzled old troll bearing a staff draped with gourds hobbled down the shoreline. "It was indeed worth the wait, young Fel," said Zul'Var as he approached, "You have fulfilled the task I gave you and demonstrated that you know the land well enough to be a headhunter. Now you need to show that you are Troll enough to be one." Zul'Var looked at Fel, sizing him up as he stood on the shore. "But first," he said "we will have to 'patch you up.'"

Saying this, he pulled one of his gourds off of his staff. He uncorked it, took a long swig, and spit the contents onto Fel's leg. "GET OUTTA THERE, Ya mangy, bucktoothed piece of dung!" he roared at the wound. "You're dead now! Go on! You may be able to torment a pup like Fel, but my juju will crush yours any day you please! So Get!"

Fel was still weak and trembling, but some of the burning subsided. "The dire rat isn't the most fearsome of critters, but their spirits can heap some mighty nasty juju on you if you don't know how to deal with them." Zul'Var grabbed Fel by the right shoulder and spun him around. He took another swig of his gourd and spit the contents on the wound on Fel's shoulder. "Go on! You, too! Don't be wasting my time by sticking round here! Go!!" He turned Fel around once again and, looking him in the eye, said "come with me." Turning to the others, he shouted "The rest of you go ahead and get the beast ready for the feast tonight! Fel and I have some talking to do!"

Fel followed Zul'Var to the witch doctor's hut. Rapping the shrunken head of Zalazane with his knuckles as he entered, he stepped inside and waited to hear what the old troll had to say. "You did good, lad. You had a difficult test and you succeeded. The village is proud of you and so am I. Now, I've got to come up with a suitable trial to set you on the way to learning what it means to be a troll. Unfortunately, the others have moved on to the task I assigned them two weeks ago, so I can't send you with them."

Again, Fel felt embarrassed. He wanted to protest that the others likely didn't have to deal with a dire boar. That he'd done what he thought was best, and succeeded. But his words were checked by his pride. He didn't like making excuses. Finally he mumbled "boars that size take time."

The old troll looked up at him and grinned a knowing grin. "That wasn't criticism, child. You wasted no time with the boar. To be honest, I wasn't sure how you would finish the task, but you were the only one I thought could succeed on that island. Do you think your friend Quinn would have made it? No. He would have charged the beast head on and died in a blaze of glory. Make a great campfire story, but a terrible loss to the tribe. Palla'd have enough sense not to make that mistake, but she doesn't have the cunning you do; nor does Mawn. No, you were the one I needed to put on that island."

Fel looked at Zul'Var, "you knew there was only the one boar on that island?" "Of course I knew," the old troll shot back "I see everything that happens on those islands now. How do you think I knew to send three boats to your island?" This silenced Fel as he thought about the screaming he had done. "And you killed it," Zul'Var continued "you've got the brains of a good witch doctor on you." Fel drew back. The idea of dealing with the Loa did not appeal to him.

"Oh, stop your worrying," snorted the doctor "you aren't witch doctor material. You've got the brains, you're tough enough, and you have the steel to face your enemies... when it makes sense to face your enemies. What you lack is the brass to face your friends and kinfolk. I've seen that old hag Magr brow beat you out of good meat at the table."

"If she needed it that badly…" said Fel quietly. "That harpy doesn't need anything, Fel! She just likes walking over your timid" Zul'Var checked himself. "Fel, the point of me bringing you in here wasn't to change who you are, at least not in that fashion. You are Fel. You are tough, you are smart, you are brave, and you are skilled. You lack the bite to mark your territory from your peers, so there's no way I'd toss you to them greedy Loa, but I have seen you still have a destiny of value to our tribe, and maybe a few others to boot. To fulfill that destiny, you need to show that you are troll enough."

Seeing Fel's right eyebrow arch, Zul'Var continued, "What separates trolls from all other races?" Fel thought a moment, "We follow the Loa." "True, but others in the horde are learning the way, for better or worse." "We heal faster." "Yeah," the old troll grinned "We view pain as an ally and teacher in a way that the others don't. If a spear doesn't kill you, it teaches your body how to get better, faster. What you need to do now is show your body how to listen to the pain."

Saying this, Zul'Var took another gourd from his staff and handed it to Fel. "Here, take a slug of this, swallow some, and spit the rest on your wounds." Fel did so, and felt a tingling that slowly replaced the pain of the wounds. The flesh around the bites slowly melded and became smooth. "Do this each time you are injured," the old troll said. "You will probably need more elixir before your body's learned, so you will have to travel to Ratchet to buy more."

"Go see a goblin called 'Gettersin.' He'll want some payment, so collect some bruiseweed before you leave the region and give him this token. He'll complain and demand a pint or two of your blood as base for the potion, but he'll give you what you need." "Is this my next trial?" asked Fel. "Not really," said Zul'Var dismissively "It's just one thing you'll need to train your body. The other is pain. Go do something quest-like, there's no end of those things, and they're bound to cause you a lot of pain." "Now!" he said, clapping his hands together, "let's go celebrate."


	2. Chapter 2

The celebration had been far more enjoyable than expected. Zul'Var was right about Fel's timidity. He was self-conscious, and had never quite been able to loosen up or assert himself around the members of his tribe. This had earned him the nickname "ifwim," after the little color-changing lizards that darted form one hiding place to the next. He was generally accepted by the tribe, and held most of them in high regard, but was always conscious of an inner distance and found gatherings uncomfortable.

…and now he was to be the center of attention at a feast. He, and no doubt others in the tribe, expected some painfully awkward moments, but they didn't come to pass.

The feast began with a ceremonial blessing by Zul'Var, who invoked the spirits of the Loa and gave Fel the traditional wineskin of Tzaki, an alcoholic drink brewed from mashed roots. Wineskins were commonly used by trolls, even at the table. Troll tusks varied considerably, and while the tusks of women were typically small curly cues, the men's tusks could range from little thumb lengths projections to forearmed length monstrosities. This often made the use of tankards or mugs impractical, hence the wineskins.

Fel's tusks were about the length of his hand. . They extended straight out at a 45 degree angle from each other, curving ever so slightly upward and inward toward their tips. Had he the opportunity, he might be able to use a shot glass without difficulty, but he definitely preferred wineskins.

With the encouragement of the tribe, he was able to drain this particular wineskin in more or less one go.

Then the boar was brought out, or at least some of it was. The size of the boar had necessitated unusual cooking methods, but the tribe's cooks had been up to the task, and the meat was particularly good. The trolls ate with enthusiasm and gusto. Drinking and laughing boisterously, they sang songs of a particularly trollish nature: songs celebrating the cunning and viciousness of ancient heroes, songs celebrating the adventures and misadventures of the Loa, and even a song or two mocking the constant infighting of the various trollish tribes.

Under normal circumstances Fel would have found an excuse to help with the sentry duty on the edge of the villiage. On this night, however, his voice could clearly be heard by the sentries. He couldn't explain it, but he felt… Buffed. Relaxed and confident, his tongue did not trip, and the distance that normally separated him from the tribe was gone. He was almost certain the ceremonial drink Zul'Var gave him contained more than Tzaki, but given how he had been enjoying himself, he wasn't going to waste his time thinking about it.

The only tense moment came on the night came when the crowd began to call for Fel to tell of his hunt. This was customary, and its impending approach should have eviscerated any capacity to enjoy the feast, but Fel had been caught in the spirit of the singing and celebration. Now that the time had arrived, he should have been petrified, but he felt suspiciously calm, and was ready to speak.

As he rose, however, Zul'Var shouted out, "No!" He stood up and called, "Fel has shown his mettle, and is obviously prepared to speak!" The crowd acknowledged this cautiously. "But we all know our Fel! He will say five words about the battle and spend the rest of the time telling us about tripping over some obarea roots when he first saw the boar's tracks." The crowd laughed and shouted its agreement. "This tale warrants a good telling… So I'm doing it!" The crowd exploded.

Fel was among those cheering, and was grinning ear to ear as he sat back down. Zul'Var was a skilled story teller, even among witch doctors, and Fel was looking forward the story.

Zul'Var did not disappoint. Standing in front of the bonfire, he described how Fel had arrived on the island. He scampered around on his hands and knees in a very exaggerated fashion as he described how Fel had immediately begun investigating his new home, and when he came to the point where Fel "met" Devil Pig, Zul'Var ran and leapt into the arms of Conn, who had just gotten up for his third helping of boar.

All the while, he described the thoughts of Fel, though in this regard, he was obviously making it up as he went along.

"What the $*#!& was that sadistic $*%&# thinking?"

"When I get back, Zalazane's head is going to have company!"

"Mommmmyyyyy!!!!!!!!"

Finally he came to the trap's construction. To illustrate this, he drafted six headhunters and positioned them where the primary trees would be, facing them inward. He then had seven-year old Vin, one of Fel's cousins, play the role of Fel.

Following Zul'Var's instruction, the child took spears and placed them in the hands or under the arms of the stationary trolls. When they had been laden with as many spears as they could hold, the witch doctor had Vin sit in front of the "trap" and squatted down beside him as he continued the story.

"Finally, after days of sitting and waiting, 'Devil Pig' finally lumbered by." The doc gestured for Conn to assume the roll of the pig. Conn looked at the witch doctor, eyed the slab of boar meat in his hand and, rolling his eyes, he stood up to walk the path indicated.

"Pah!" Shouted Zul'Var "When was the last time you saw a pig amble?! Lumber, Conn, Lumber!" Conn sighed, then "lumbered."

Zul'Var whispered something to Vin, then continued his narration, describing Fel's response to being ignored by the pig. He shouted Fel's rant, "You Fetid pile of ham hocks! Who the hell do you think you are?! Tell you who -I- think you are! YOU… ARE… BREAKFAST!" The crowd roared its approval.

At his signal, young Vin threw an egg Zul'Var had secreted to him at Conn's back. The egg splattered in all directions. Conn spun to glare at Vin, only to be smacked across the brow by a second egg. The normally good-natured (insofar as trolls go) Conn swore and charged toward Vin, who dashed into the trap. The large headhunter charged in after the boy. His pursuit ended there. The little boy easily scooted out the other side while Conn was stopped short by a spear held by one of the now grinning "trees." Backing up, he encountered the spears held by the "trees" he had charged past. Realizing his situation, he stood still and scowled. The crowd laughed in appreciation. Conn's subdued glare slowly turned to Zul'Var, then gave way to his typical good natured grin.

Zul'Var continued his narration, "Fel did not count on his trap to do his work for him! No! As the beast struggled against his trap he grabbed up his spear, ran around to its side, and stabbed the beast in the heart!

At his prompting, Vin grabbed a stick and ran around to the side. Conn, who had finally decided to get in to the spirit of the tale, had grabbed a couple of the spears and was shaking them around while growling in a boar-like fashion. This obviously unnerved Vin, but he marshaled his courage and jabbed at Conn's Chest, connecting lightly in one of his lower ribs.

"The spear did not pierce the boar, and was knocked out of Fel's hand. So he grabbed his second spear, and stabbed again."

Vin shrugged, and jabbed again.

From the 'trap,' Conn shouted out, "Please tell me that this one struck home!"

Shifting logs in the bonfire sent a stream of orange sparks into the night sky.

"Yeesss, Conn, it did indeed strike home, and it was obvious that the blow was fatal." Zul'Var gestured to indicate that the members of the trap could put down their spears before he wrapped up his story. "As the beast was dyin, Fel faced it. He had shown it he was its master and made sure the pig knew it."

"Fel has proven that he is skilled in the jungle ways! Now he has to learn what it means to be a troll." Zul'Var summoned Fel to his side and continued. "To do this, he will journey out tomorrow to see the world… and learn how the world sees trolls. He will know when it is right to return. When he does, he will tell me of his travels, and we will see if he is headhunter material."

"Now… Let the dancin begin!!"

The tribe roared its approval, the rhythmic music began, and the tribe danced.

As has been noted often before, the dance of the male troll has a martial flavor to it. Indeed, there is an unarmed fighting style practiced by the jungle trolls that shares many moves with the dance. Fel was proficient with the fighting style, but was less able with the dance. The back and forth of combat was comfortable to him, but he was typically too self-conscious to let go and get into the spirit of the dance.

Tonight he danced. He danced with joy and passion; laughing and whooping. He may not have been the best of dancers, but it was if the Loa were bursting forth through him, and the spirit was contagious. The tribe danced till late in the night.

Fel did not want the dancing to end, but end it did. He headed through the moonless night to his hut, marveling at the wonders of the evening. No doubt Zul'Var's ceremonial drink had something to do with it. Shame it likely wouldn't last.

A movement to his right brought him to full alert. He spun to face... Nelza, a beautiful flame-haired troll who had never paid much attention to Fel. She was among the more sought after of the young women of the tribe, and while socially isolated, Fel understood that there was something going on between her and Mag, one of the headhunters who had helped Fel get the boar off the island. She emerged from the shadows and stepped toward Fel. "Tonight you've gotten deserved honors… I would add to them." She reached out and took his hand in hers.

"What of Mag?"

Nelza smiled, "Mag is currently being entertained by Ghala. You don't need to worry of him."

"I don't worry. I like him. He's done me no wrong."

"I like him, too. I love him, in fact. Whether my father realizes it yet or not, he will offer me as a wife to Mag. And Mag will have me. But tonight I am my own person, and I wish to see how clever you really are."

"I still have no wish to deceive him."

Nelza rolled her eyes, "Ifwim! Are you really so clueless?" She sighed, then smiled again. Still holding his hand, she spoke in a soft voice, "don't assume that Mag is as clueless, and don't force him to own in the firelight what we have held to the shadows."

Were this any other night, Fel would have reflected on Nelza's words. He would have considered that before the coming of Thrall women were generally regarded as property, prizes to be acquired, shown off, and exchanged. It was not unheard of for a man to give one of his wives to a friend as a sign of esteem. Thrall's influence had raised the status of women in the tribe, so this practice was not a common occurrence, but echoes of it might still remain.

Fel would have also considered that Nelza seemed to be the instigator of this encounter. He knew she did nothing that she didn't want to do. Her personality might not have been traditional, but social upheaval shifts social norms, especially among the young, and the migration of the tribe had certainly upheaved the social.

Fel's thoughts might have followed those paths, and a few more beside, but at the time Nelza had moved in close and begun running the tip of her exquisitely feminine tusk along the inner side of one of Fel's considerably larger tusks. The space between his tusks quickly grew too small for her head to fit, and she shifted to let her neck continue the journey. As he stared at her aquamarine throat, she nicked his eyebrow. Mag (and 'Ifwim') were forgotten…

The next morning Fel stood at the edge of the village, ready to begin the second leg of his quest. A few trolls of the tribe had gotten up to see him off. His mother had hugged and kissed him, his father had slapped him on the back, and the old hag Magr had given him a slap on the head. While he wasn't entirely certain, Fel got the impression this was her version of affection.

Fel started down the road. A short way out he passed by Mag and Nelza, walking arm in arm back toward the village. Nelza gave a surreptitious wink, which eliciting a blush from Fel. This in turn elicited a laugh from Nelza, and if Mag understood the exchange, he made no comment. As he continued on, Fel realized that the magic of the previous night had run its course, and he was the same 'Ifwim' he had always been.


End file.
